Big John Hudson burst through the front door of the diner and threw his ball cap down onto the circular table with the fervor of a sloth during mating season.

“I’ve had it with the women in my life.”

John’s single statement served to stoke the conversational fires around the big round table in the center of the diner.

The morning’s discussions had, thus far, been relatively mundane, revolving around the overall ineptitude of our elected leaders. The interesting, albeit completely overlooked, common thread was that none of the members of the Circular Congregation Breakfast Club voted for any of the current batch of bumbling politicians.

Therefore, each felt absolved of any blame for whatever the present negative state of affairs might be. Each held to the tenet, “If I didn’t vote, I didn’t make the mess.”

“Having troubles with that Jillian girl, again?” asked Tommy Jones, as he recalled Big John’s difficulties keeping up with an exercise DVD from an over-demanding Jillian Michaels. Jillian kept trying to get John to “engage your core,” causing John to want to break off the engagement.

“Did one of those internet dating sites try to set you up with another girl that was too pretty, or too smart, or just too picky for your tastes?” probed Arnold Tobin with a grin. Arnold knew John felt that online dating sites shouldn’t be allowed to ask personal questions such as does he have a job, has he ever been in jail, or how often does he bathe? He has a good job and has never been in jail — shouldn’t that be good enough?

“It’s the woman who lives in my truck. I’m sick of her and I’m kicking her out.” Big John clarified his comment — and raised even more questions.

“There’s a woman living in your truck? Is that legal?” Firewalker was usually the first to question the legal and moral ramifications of things, often leaning towards knowing the allowable minimums and maximums.

“Every time I start up my new truck, some woman keeps asking me where I want to go. The first time she asked, I tried to ignore her (Big John has learned to ignore the voices in his head), but she kept nagging at me to tell her where I wanted to go.”

“Nav-system,” chortled Harrison Winkle. “I’ve got one, too.”

“Nope, that’s not it,” John responded. “She says her name is Susie, or Shirley, or some such thing.”

“Siri?”

“Yep. That’s the woman. She’s been living in my truck since I bought it. What a pain. Always wanting to know where I’m going, and then complaining about how I get there. She’s constantly ‘recalculating.’ Since when do you have to be able to do math, just to drive?” John’s complaint seemed to have validity. “The other day, I told her I just wanted to go for a drive. First she asked me if I meant Google Drive, then about a movie with Ryan Gosling, and then about a book by Daniel Pink. She just wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“There’s nothing worse than a woman, back-seat driver sitting right up front, next to you,” added Sal. “I can see why you’d want to get rid of her.”

“Now, hold on there, John,” cautioned Tommy, trying to help Big John explore his options with the woman that lived in his truck. “Can she cook?”

“I doubt it. But, she does seem to know the location of every restaurant near to me.”

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.